Monday, November 17, 2008

My Heart Changed Shape And Left My Body

The blue Buick was crushed by a falling maple tree in late Fall. Connie S. threw out the first pitch and we all listened on the radio. Soda with peanut butter and jelly stirred in turned out to be worth a beating.

Someone once planned to build a garage there. Once we mixed maple syrup with snow and the disappointment lingered. A cast iron pistol hung in the hallway.

With apologies to those missing from this text, I hereby state my intention to continue neglecting them. One combs their hair before visiting the doctor, even after suffering head wounds. Kiss albums were ferried through town on a star-spangled Huffy.

There were holes in the wall where the plumbing would go. A bruise can be explained, easily. Head, a melon, cement stairs.

A plethora of love letters were hidden in my closet. Looking closely, one could see their reflection in a bead of sweat traveling down his bicep. And to think that sex was only just beginning to shape my sense of myself in those days!

Contrary to later assertions, heavy metal was appealing not for its manifest anger - a fundamental misapprehension of the genre, by the way - but for its power. Running into the woods after to hunt down fragments of skeet. When she followed my heart changed shape and left my body.

A garter snake in the marigolds swallowed a toad which cried piteously. Yet another secret that can never be told.

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